Red Lipstick Feminism
by IluvMonkeys
Summary: Jenny's little black dress leads to way more trouble than she ever intended, and she's got a bit of a different take on feminism. Gibbs...is not complaining. Burley, however gets the short end of the stick. Pre-Paris workplace.


_So, here's the latest oneshot, inspired by a little clip from the West Wing. I just thought it fit Jenny very well. It's been a while since I put out a new story so I hope you like it :)_

_Thanks to MariskaBaby9_2 _for jumpstarting my imagination ;)_

_Disclaimer: Sadly, NCIS **still** doesn't belong to me..._

The elevator doors opened and Jenny stepped off in a sleeveless, black, halter, floor length evening gown with a sheer shawl wrapped around her arms.

"Hubba-hubba" Gibbs murmured, and Jenny smirked at him with lips colored fire engine red at the look on his face as she approached him.

"Red, you'd make a good dog break its leash," Burley said as she walked by, and she rolled her eyes.

Before she could ask what Gibbs had called her in for, Pacci walked into the bullpen and gave a low whistle.

"Nice dress, Shepard," he teased.

"What's going on?" she asked, returning her attention to Gibbs as she brushed a curl out of her face that had slipped out of her French twist.

"Where were you?" he asked, assessing her attire, ignoring her question for the time being.

"On a date if you must know," she replied testily.

"What kind of date were you dressing like that for?" he demanded, raising a brow.

"No apology for ruining my date?" she quipped, and received a mild version of his infamous glare.

"Rule number six," he reminded her.

She grinned—his glare never had really affected her—and sighed, taking a seat in his chair and resignedly answered his question.

"I was at the opera. It was a bad date anyway. I'm more upset you made me miss the ending to the show."

"You hate the opera," he said, knitting his brows.

"_You_ hate the opera," she countered smartly, and he handed her the case file.

"Lance Corporal Trevor Matthews, 21, shot point blank in his bed last night."

"Why does this look familiar?" she murmured, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Because it's the third one just like it in two months," he said, and grabbed her by her shoulders, lifting her out of his chair.

She perched herself on the edge of the desk instead and crossed her legs, resting the file on her knee unintentionally giving him a view of the back of her dress which stopped just high enough to leave a little to the imagination.

"Backless?" he asked suggestively though it was just loud enough for her to hear, and she failed to smother a smile but spoke as if he had said nothing.

"They're all white males, age twenty to twenty-five, with blonde hair and green eyes. The last two both liked women _a lot_ and they had a little too much play, not enough work. They look like they were on the verge of a dishonorable discharge. I'm willing to bet our killer is going after a specific profile," she mused.

Gibbs nodded and said, "Take Burley. Go talk to the victim's friends, family, find out what you can about him."

First, she stopped by her desk, hiking her dress up just enough to un-strap her off duty SIG from her thigh. She checked that the safety was on out of habit and shoved it in her drawer.

"Give me ten minutes," she said to Burley, and smirked knowingly before knocking his mouth closed gently.

When the elevator door had closed behind her once more Anna Moore, the director's secretary tossed the case file he had asked for on Burley's desk.

"You guys are so disrespectful," she scoffed, and all three heads shot up.

"What did we do know Anna?" Burley demanded.

"With Agent Shepard, the one who you told would _make a good dog break its leash_; it was rude and demeaning," she insisted.

"It wasn't demeaning," he rebutted. "It was a compliment."

"You're her senior agent, and you couldn't find any other way to compliment her without making her seem like a piece of meat?" she demanded. "It has to be hard enough being the only woman on this team without her colleagues, especially senior colleagues saying things like _that_," she finished and turned on her heel, leaving Burley in shock and Pacci and Gibbs grateful they had not been the target of her attack.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the way to the victim's mother's house, Anne's words continued to bother Stan while Jenny calmly sat in the passenger's seat reading a book, her feet propped up on the dashboard, inadvertently showing off her freshly painted toes; she had by then changed into a green Oxford and a pair of black slacks.

"Burley is there something you want to say to me?" she asked, without looking up from her book. "You've been looking over here every five minutes and fidgeting in your seat the whole drive, and I have to say it's making me a little nervous seeing as you have your hands on the wheel."

"Okay, so, when I said you were enough to make a good dog break its leash, you understood what I meant, right?" he asked. "I didn't mean you were a dog, or…"

"I understand the metaphor, Stan," she cut him off, flipping the page of her book.

"Okay, I said it to be nice; to make you feel good," he elaborated unnecessarily.

"It did," she replied, finally looking up at him.

"I didn't mean for it to be demeaning," he insisted, turning to look at her.

"Burley, watch the road!" she shrieked and he had to swerve to avoid a particularly large branch in their way.

"Someone told me that I demeaned you and that it was disrespectful," he said.

"You didn't," she replied matter-of-factly.

"I was told that I did."

"By whom?" she demanded.

"Anne," he said immediately.

"Well, she was mistaken. If I felt demeaned, I would be the first to know," she quipped. "And you would be the second, seeing as I would have chewed you out for it."

"Good," he sighed, and she laughed.

"Still reeling from that almost sexual harassment suit by Agent Manning?" she jeered, and he glared as if to say, 'that's not funny.'

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The following day Jenny stood in front of the whiteboard, taping a picture of a smiling young woman with red hair and striking blue eyes "Dana Watson," Jenny said, pointing to the picture. "Dana was seen near all three victims for up to a week before their deaths as if she were studying them."

She taped another picture to the board of a man shot the same way the previous three victims were, with the same characteristics; blonde hair, green eyes.

"This is Lance Corporal Thomas Watson, Dana's husband, or former husband. They were in the middle of a nasty divorce when he turned up dead. Naturally, she was the first suspect, but there was never enough evidence to pin it on her. The case is still open. Mr. Watson, like our three more recent victims, liked women. In fact, it was the reason for their divorce. He gave his wife Chlamydia after sleeping with a seasoned hooker."

All three men gave a low groan of, "Oooh," and Jenny continued.

"It's a long shot, but she may be our girl. Right now, it's the best we've got."

"Pick her up," Gibbs said, sitting back in his chair, and Jenny and Burley grabbed their things, turning to leave.

As they did, Burley caught sight of Anne coming down the stairs.

"Wait," he said, and Jenny looked at him in inquisitive confusion. "Anna!" he called, grabbing the woman's attention as she proceeded to walk by them.

"Jenny said she doesn't have a problem with what I said," he told her, and Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Burley, this is important, okay? We need to go get this woman," Jenny said, speaking as if she were an irritated mother to a five year old child.

"Yeah, but it's important that it's clear that I'm not a sexist, and that I don't go around sexually harassing people," he insisted, and she sighed in irritation.

"Anna," Jenny said, turning to address the woman and Anna nodded. "He's not a sexist, okay?" she said, and headed for the elevators with Burley behind her.

"If you're willing to let your sexuality diminish your power," Anna called, stopping Jenny in her tracks.

Jenny spun to her with a reproachful look.

"Excuse me?" she demanded, and it was no longer an issue between Anna and Burley, but between Anna and Jenny.

"I'm just surprised your willing to let your sexuality diminish your power is all," Anna replied, shrugging.

"What does that even mean?" Jenny demanded in irritation.

"I think you know," Anna shot back.

"Well, I think that you think my brain is made of cotton candy," Jenny snapped. "If someone says something to you that's demeaning to you or offends you then by all means say so, but that does not mean that all women have to think the same way or that because you try to put it my brain that I'm going to absorb it like a sponge."

"I didn't say that it did, but someone _did _say something that offended me and I _did _said something," Anna countered immediately.

"I like it when the guys tease me. I don't have a problem with it. I don't mind it when it gets sexual; I'm not a prude. I like sex, and I don't think that my sexuality diminishes _anything_. In fact, I think it gives me an advantage and I use it as such," Jenny rebutted. "I use the fact that men like sex as much as I do as a weapon rather than trying to suppress it and lecturing them when they give me a compliment."

"And what kind of feminism is that?" Anna demanded.

"My kind of feminism. Let's go with lipstick feminism or even take it a step further and call it stiletto feminism so that you can look it up seeing as it seems like you can't wrap your mind around anything that isn't textbook," Jenny countered sharply.

"I like stilettos," Burley murmured, grinning, and Jenny spun on him.

"You're not in enough trouble already?" she demanded, and he ducked his head.

"You're right, I should probably shut up."

"My point is that feminism and so-called sexual revolution gets in the way of actual revolution and petty problems, like Burley over here making a very Burley-like, sexual comment, get in the way of real problems like catching serial murderers which we should be doing _right _now," Jenny stressed. "So you," she said turning to Burley, "Let's go. And _you_," she said, turning to Anne, "Stop trying to take the fun parts out of my day."

With that she set off, leaving a stunned Anna and entire bullpen in her wake. She smacked the elevator button, but gasped as realization dawned on her.

"Lipstick feminism," she murmured, mentally slapping herself and ran back to the bullpen with a confused Burley behind her.

She dropped her things on the ground at her feet and bent over her computer. With a few key strokes, a woman's picture was pulled up on the screen. She had red hair and blue eyes, and if it weren't for the heavy makeup, the scowl on her face, and the booking number in her hand she would look exactly like Dana Watson.

"This prostitute, she goes by Carla. She was with all three victims the night before they died. I didn't put it together until now because they were all from the same area; close to the street she works every night," Jenny stressed frantically.

Burley and Pacci looked confused, but Gibbs had immediately caught on.

"That's Dana Watson!" she ground out exasperatedly, motioning to the screen.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had found Dana/Carla working her regular street. The woman was cocky and entirely too confident in a job badly done. She had already given them her DNA under the jaded impression that they had not found anything at any of the crime scenes. It was true, she had been careful, but at the last crime scene they had found a strand of cherry red hair.

Jenny sat across from her in the interrogation room hours later while Jethro leaned against the table. They were simply buying time until the DNA tests came back.

"You're costing me money, Agent Shepard," she sighed, picking at her nails with a bored and unconcerned look on her face.

"And I sincerely apologize for that," Jenny assured her indulgently, "but with the crimes you've been accused of giving a DNA sample is a definite sign of good faith."

"The only reason you dragged me here is because of my lying, cheating dirt bag of a husband. These other men were shot like him, so you assume that I did it. Just like when Tom got himself killed. It was probably one of his skanks," she scoffed, and Jenny feigned confusion.

"We never released that to the public," she said, leaning forward subtly so as to make the woman squirm.

The woman assumed a momentary look of panic before schooling her features once more.

"Well I could only assume," she covered. "Why else would you have me as a suspect?"

"Oh of course," Jenny said, nodding.

Not five minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Jenny excused herself. When she walked back in she wore a satisfied smirk. Gibbs grabbed the woman out of her chair despite her protests and pulled her hands behind her back.

"Dana Watson, you're under arrest for the murders of Trevor Matthews, Thomas Watson, Jeffrey Morris, and Robert Jensen. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law…"

"Why a prostitute?" Jenny asked, drowning out Gibbs' Miranda rights.

"Best way to get them," Dana laughed without an ounce of guilt or remorse in voice or actions. "Lipstick feminism, babe."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jenny looked up later that night as someone's hand caught the elevator doors just in time, and she smiled upon seeing that person was Gibbs.

"Going home at a reasonable time finally?" she teased.

"Could say the same thing to you," he quipped. "You did good today, Shepard," he said, and she smiled.

"Thanks," she said, smiling.

"SecNav has an assignment for you, and I told him I support it," he replied, handing her a file as the elevators opened.

She looked after him in confusion and flipped the folder open. The words, 'Europe' and 'Undercover' jumped out at her.

"Jethro!" she called, but was cut off by the elevator doors closing.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jethro stood in his basement sanding his boat when he heard the opening and shutting of his front door. His senses were on high alert until he heard the clicking of heels above him. He looked up to see Jenny walking down the stairs heels in one hand, the file he had given her earlier in the other.

"SecNav wants me to go to Europe? With you? Undercover?" she demanded. She received no response and she continued. "I've only been an agent for eight months."

"You're a fast learner," he said without taking his eyes off of his task.

"It says here you recommended me for it," she said, allowing a hint of pride into her voice.

"Don't let it go to your head," was his gruff response.

"You aren't worried about all that unresolved sexual tension that seems to be the source of office gossip coming to a head?" she teased, smirking and grabbed his bourbon from under him, much to his chagrin. "Undercover as newly-weds. We're bound to have to share a bed."

"This your attempt at trying to get yourself taken off the assignment?" he inquired derisively, snatching his drink back. "You're doing a bad job."

"Gibbs!" she gasped dramatically. "I do believe you may have just sexually harassed me. Don't let Anna get wind," she quipped, a grin splitting her face and he snorted irreverently.

She grabbed a sander off the bench and started sanding.

"Europe," she mused. "I've never been."

She saw Gibbs set his sander down out of the corner of her eye and had to stifle a gasp as he came up behind her, placing his hand over hers.

"With the grain," he murmured.

In that position, getting a whiff of the combination of sawdust, coffee, and bourbon that was so inexplicably Gibbs; she was reminded not for the first time just how agonizingly attracted she was to her boss.

"If you act like one of those annoying tourists who wants to buy everything, you're fired," he mumbled and her laughter rang out through the basement.


End file.
